


Best Laid

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Bondage, Conditioning, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:06:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It amused Spike no end that now, when Xander was finding a balance and happiness in his life, did his friends start to notice that something was different about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid

Warm, supple skin stretched before him. It wasn’t flawless, not like the pretty pictures that danced and groaned on the screen, but Spike didn’t mind. _Live as long as I have and you come to value the flaws more than most everything else. Perfection doesn’t exist, not the way I want it._ Not the raw, honest way that scrubbed off makeup and shucked off masks made of malleable rubber.

Spike ran his hands down thighs that quivered to his touch, exulting at the sheer need that poured off Xander’s body. “Keep watching,” he instructed. “Look at him, pet, knees tucked under him just like yours. Body stretched out and down, head pressed to the mattress in supplication. Presenting himself, he is. Making a gift of himself.”

They didn’t need the videos, not anymore. Xander had pledged himself weeks ago and never once indicated a hint of regret. That didn’t stop Spike from using them, though, enjoying the mirror images he created, the way he could fine tune Xander’s reactions until he purred as sweetly as any motor. He was fairly certain that Xander enjoyed them, too— _though whether that’s because I do, or he enjoys them for his their own merits, makes no never mind, does it?_

Xander’s arms were folded underneath his chin, the only deviation from the image on the screen. It was paused, the dvd’s freeze frame less grainy and fuzzy than the vcr’s, a reason Spike had upgraded a week or two before. That, and Xander had presented him with the toy, and Spike was never one to turn down fancy gifts of devotion. Because that _was_ a gift of devotion, no matter how his friends harped on Xander spending too much money on Spike.

 _Wonder when they’re going to twig that my boy’s not all there, anymore,_ he thought, not for the first time. Xander in Spike’s presence was a Xander in a near-continuous state of trance, suggestible and docile the way Xander Harris hadn’t allowed himself to be since the boy was all of eight years old. Spike had pulled out that story, like all the other stories of Xander’s life, taking each word-laced bauble and hiding it away inside of himself. He honestly didn’t know if he was allowing the boy to heal in a twisted form of therapy, or sucking each and every bit of him that Spike could find, draining him of everything but what Spike put there—and didn’t care, either way. Dropped comments and half-accusations told Spike that Xander was calmer, now. More focused and confident, able to handle the curves life continually threw without the characteristic hyperness and insecurity.

It amused Spike no end that _now_ , when Xander was finding a balance and happiness in his life, did his friends start to notice that something was different about him. They accused Spike of all kinds of things, never coming close to what he was actually doing. _How could they? Idiot children—even Rupert!—can’t imagine me taking this beautiful canvas and twisting it for mutual pleasure, instead of just selfish. The more foolish them, giving up a treat like my boy._

On screen, a skinny dark-haired boy groaned softly, breathy enough that it could be termed a whimper, while his body was positioned and toyed with. Spike mimicked the movements, sliding two fingers easily into Xander’s body. Six months and they still hadn’t fucked in the traditional sense of the word, something that was starting to bother Spike. _Why_ was he waiting so long? Denying himself pleasure, forcing himself to this snail’s pace of seduction and conditioning was all well and good, but Xander _was_ conditioned by now. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t ask his boy to do that Xander wouldn’t immediately do.

 _Well, sexually, anyway. Haven’t destroyed his ability to think or that damnable habit of throwing himself into trouble, much as I wish to._ That, however, wasn’t quite true. In his deepest, most private speculation, Spike knew he admired the boy’s ability to love so strongly that he’d do anything for those under his care, regardless of his own safety. That kind of loyalty was something Spike craved for himself. 

Rescuing Xander from the beasties and then patching him up was always a lovely little treat.

“Is that what you want?” he crooned to Xander, removing his fingers to trail sticky residue over the backs of Xander’s feet. Random twitches pulsed, making Xander’s body jerk lightly before returning to position. “To give yourself, just like that perfect little slut on the screen? To let someone position you, teach you all the tricks a whore should know, and never share you with anyone else?”

Xander inhaled sharply at those words, his body shivering lightly. Such a needy thing, his responses pretty enough that Spike could almost pretend that he hadn’t said what he’d just said. He hadn’t _meant_ to, certainly—but as much as he pulled out from Xander, somehow Xander seemed to pull secrets out from him. _And given the boy never talks unless I ask him to, how he does it is a fucking mystery._

To distract himself—themselves, probably—Spike worked three, then four fingers inside Xander and fucked him at a slow, even pace. “You look so good like this, love,” he murmured. “Ready and waiting. Are you desperate, pet? I could stop now, you know. Turn you around and fill your mouth with my cock, take my fill of you that way. Or do you want more?”

Xander’s breathing was quiet little pants and gasps. He was trying to regulate it, prior experience and training reminding him that Spike could drag this out for hours if he wanted. Using Xander’s body was something they both enjoyed immensely. _Don’t let him come often, my boy, but then that’s what he wants, isn’t it? Wants to be used and abused and wait days until I finally relent and let him have those conscious-eluding orgasms he adores._ Watching the boy try and hide his need from coworkers and friends was always amusing—though Spike indulged in that far less than a supposedly evil vampire probably should have. It was very rare that a day went by without Xander finding some kind of release. Hell, it was more often that those dark eyes flashed, something bright and needy begging to be made to wait longer.

He didn’t talk much anymore, but Xander had learned how to communicate even better.

Like now, Xander’s breath trembled against lips gone wet and swollen from being bitten. It wasn’t the facile, eloquent begging that part of Spike still craved. It was _better_. To reduce this babbling mess of unfocused need into something defined, until a single breath whispered into the air told Spike novellas of information...

On screen, the camera angle shifted to show golden hips sidle into position, a dusky cock pressed up against pink, winking skin. Spike watched, listening to Xander’s blood sing with a chorus of _yesyesplease_. Should he? He’d waited so long, made them _both_ wait with interminable desire.

Spike wasn’t aware of himself rising up onto his knees, mimicking the actor’s position exactly. He wasn’t aware of anything but his own swirling thoughts until a brush of heat slid along the head of his cock, slick and soft. Shocked, Spike glanced down to see Xander... _laugh_ at him. Soundless, to be sure, but a hint of rippling muscles was as loud as any guffaw, snickering up at him with a kind of lighthearted joy that penetrated Spike more deeply then he was about to do to Xander.

“Brat,” he said. And then thrust.

Fingers and toys had proceeded him for months, now, and Xander had long ago mastered the art of conscious relaxation. Trancing was good for that, giving control of the body to Spike who could condition the boy into understanding what to do. Yet with all the playing, all the varying sizes of toys that Spike had pressed into willing flesh, Xander was still so _tight_. Hot and grasping, slickly greedy, hips moving imperceptibly back in a blatant—to Spike, anyway—desire for more. More _now_.

Fuck, was this worth it.

Beneath him Xander shuddered and quietly moaned, body undulating in a parody of the wild fucking taking place on screen. Both actors were mindlessly moaning, bodies rutting with the kind of pure need that most porn films never captured, the movements too stilted, too controlled to be real. Spike had chosen this film for this one scene, envisioning that when he finally took Xander in the most significant of ways, that he’d want that wild, raw power over the body underneath his.

Instead, though, Spike flicked off the tv with a snap of frustrated electrons.

They started slow. Harsh breathing, barely-there moans, and the slick sound of two bodies moving together were the only accompaniment they needed. Spike held himself to the kind of pace that should’ve made him crazy, and then went even slower. Every millimeter of skin disappearing into Xander’s body was studied. Every hitch and tremble of their bodies savored. His muscles _screamed_ at the pace, dwarfed only by the silent creeling of the boy who wanted everything Spike would give him and more beside.

How long they kept to that achingly slow pace, Spike didn’t know. He didn’t know anything but the feel of Xander’s body caressing his, the taste of Xander’s sweat upon the air, and the overwhelming feel of Xander’s presence inside his own skin, need and want and desire all overwhelmed by the sense of being given a gift, a benediction where only sin was supposed to live.

An emotion Spike refused to name but craved with the desperation of a drowning man’s need for air suffused him, swamping the corners of his mind until nothing else remained.

Sodden with sweat, Spike draped himself over Xander’s back, hands sliding down strong arms to find fingers tinged with white. Uncurling them, threading them with his own, Spike settled deepest yet—and truly began to fuck.

Minutes blended together as they rutted. Xander’s body fell out of that supplicating position, legs obviously cramping as they lengthened and then bent, thighs flat against the bed, hips canted backwards for more and more and more. Spike didn’t care, taking advantage of the newer position to wrap am arm around Xander’s waist, holding him, bracing him as they continued to use their bodies. He spared no thoughts for the cock that speared against his arm with each thrust, knowing that his touch was not required.

All that was required was _Spike_.

When the rhythm finally broke, the pressure inside Spike’s body cresting with despairing intensity, it was Xander who pushed him that final moment. A sound so quiet a human would’ve missed it, a breath of a word, offered to whoever could hear him with a penitent’s grace.

_“Finally.”_

Spike shattered. His body convulsed, twin cries rising up in harmony. Distantly, he was aware of Xander’s own release, timed mere moments afterwards, both of them pouring more than just physical worship into each other.

It felt like hours before he could move again. _Haven’t come that hard in decades,_ he thought, purposefully trying to distract himself. It didn’t work, of course. How could it, when Xander shifted position without permission, draping a sweaty, heaving body over Spike’s, arms wrapping around Spike’s waist before Spike could order his to do the same? How could it, when black eyes, free of any outside influence twinkled up into his, as content as only children could be?

Words swirled about in his mind, conversations and comments blending until Spike let them all go. _No need. Not now._ Sighing, Spike allowed his boy to settle them both, blanket pulled up to Xander’s chin. “Mm,” he said.

“Mm,” Xander agreed.


End file.
